Sixty Lines

Sixty lines

Carved with the sharpest blade into the soft flesh of my soul.

The scars on the outside heal

But the sixty bright red lines will never.

Each time feels like the first

A fresh wound dig into my confidence,

My sanity, my being.

Sixty bright lines,

One for each time you took my freedom.

Sixty lines that will never stop releasing their fountain of blood

Sixty lines of pure agony

Carved with the knife of betrayal.

Sixty scars that will never fade,

Sixty lines

Of pure torture

That will never heal.

Each time I pick you up,

You cut another part of my soul up

Sixty times, and I never seem to learn.

But now,

I’m

Fucking

Done

Helping.